


An Oversight

by ifyoudieidie02



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Cedric is not dead, Character Growth, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Crazy Professors, Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female-Centric, Girl Gang, Good Severus Snape, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Horcrux Hunting, I do what I want, LGBTQ Themes, Luna Lovegood is a Good Friend, M/M, Male Character of Color, Male Slash, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Ginny Weasley, POV Ginny Weasley, POV Tom Riddle, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Quidditch Tom, Sane Tom Riddle, Strong Female Characters, Super AU, Super Not Canon, Swearing, Tom is so soft for her, Voldemorts back, Wild Ginny, Young Tom Riddle, fight the system, mental health, no beta we die like men, updating the teaching staff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyoudieidie02/pseuds/ifyoudieidie02
Summary: Ginevra Weasley would say her trouble began the moment she decided to write in a tatty black journal that appeared in with her school books, she would be right. She thought her troubles had ended after local Chosen One, Harry Potter vanquished said book and the ex-best friend inside, she would be wrong.When a Quidditch accident lands Ginny unconscious in the Hospital Wing she thinks that is about as shit as her day can get but upon waking up she discovers not only can she see the specter of Tom Riddle but he is fully interactive and wants to mend their relationship aaaand commandeer a new body.This is the story of Ginny Weasley and how a bout of mild haunting and feared psychosis turns into a story of hard-won love, a fantabulous girl gang, self-discovery, and how hope can be found in the darkest of times if only you are willing to beat its arse into submission.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	1. Broken Hearted Baby

I do not own Harry Potter or make any profit therein, this is simply an AU utilizing the characters and world.

Enjoy!

Lately, Ginevra Weasley had been finding herself in some rather unexpected places. That is not to say that she consciously traveled places without a direction in mind but that she disconcertingly found herself in places she had no memory of travelling to. Now, she might be willing to take this matter up with Madame Pomfrey, the school's Matron, were it not for the startlingly large amount of blood she generally found herself splattered in when she 'came to' and the coinciding fact that someone was not only butchering the school's chickens but popping about and 'petrifying' misbegotten masses. No, Miss Weasley was decidedly on her own in this endeavour- excepting, of course, the tatty black journal within which she was able to commune with Tom. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle, little Ginny Weasley's truest friend and the only person to have ever understood her. With him she was able to be honest as she had never felt safe enough to be with any of her six brothers, either of her parents, or even the girl up the road that was a similar age. Put simply, Ginny thought the world of Tom and was doubtless in her faith of him. Tom, however, respected Ginny's spark but thought of her only as a means to the utmost of ends. Ginny, trusting Tom, told him all about her unconscious meanderings and the side effects therein. Tom, desperate to further his own agenda, laid rest to Ginny’s fears with words as empty as his heart. 

And so things progressed.

Ginny kept giving and Tom kept taking, but unbeknownst to either of them at the time the nature of their relationship was more comparable to that of a seesaw than that of an overpriced therapist and his mentally healthy patient. Ginny would give and Tom would take but as time progressed Tom would give and Ginny would take, entwining their souls in a way not so easily undone. 

Events came to head as our sweet and fiery young Ginny painted her own death notice on the wall of a school she had longed to go to, at the end of a year she can scarcely remember. 

(All she remembers is Tom. All she is is Tom and his warmth...but also a sharp edging of fear- though she knows that’s wrong because Tom promised her and Tom never lied.) 

Ginny comes to with a sharp gasp and a sharper shiver as the damp of Salazar Slytherin’s chamber permeates through the thin wool of her second-hand jumper. Her only warmth radiates from her right hand which is tightly clasped in that of Tom’s starkly larger one as his thumb chases a line across her knuckles. She thinks he looks like the statue of a fallen angel with his head bent, a small frown on his thin lips and he thinks she looks like a spectre from a tragic fairytale with her fiery red hair thrown in stark contrast against her overly pale skin.

“I can see you properly,” Ginny whispers in confusion.

“I’ve done a rather bad thing, princess.” Tom pauses for a moment, “I never meant to like you.”

“I’m sure I’ll forgive you for it, the bad thing, I'm rather glad you like me.” Ginny whispers tiredly.

“How can you be sure?” Tom asks, the whole of his face creasing into a frown.

Ginny huffs lightly in what one might call a laugh, “Because you’re my best friend and therefore I am capable of forgiving you anything.”

Tom’s hollow laugh echoes throughout the chamber as Ginny shifts next to him, angling her head to better see his face. “Tom, I’m so tired. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer, can you tell me about the bad thing later?” Ginny asks her voice fading in and out as she struggles to push air through her lungs.

Tom begins stroking her hair with his free hand, “That’s quite alright princess, would you like me to tell you a story as you drift off?” Ginny hums lightly in agreement as she curls in towards Tom’s warmth. 

“Once upon a time there was a striking princess with fiery red hair and a temper to match…” his voice slowly tapering off as did Ginny's conscious thought. 

A resounding crash sounds in the distance and the harsh clap of footsteps begin to echo towards them. Standing up with a resigned sigh, he throws Ginny a parting glance as he moves off into the shadows slotting into place his company scowl and sociopathic smile. Now it was less the interruption and oncoming strife that annoyed Tom and more-so the thoughtless destruction of his ancestors chamber, Tom casually wondered who raised the child to have such poor manners and then remembered Potter's lack of guidance was down to him and decided to benevolently put aside his annoyance. 

Potter appears and he is good and loyal, Tom can't help but think how he would be a Hufflepuff if it weren't for this stupidly brave streak he clings to so ardently. 

Tom is vile and vicious, and oh so dramatic; he knows he does his Slytherin heritage proud. Yet quite a large part of him, larger than he thought it would be, is rooting for Potter to suc-. Okay that last bit was utter bullshite but he _was_ remorseful that Ginny came as the cost to his success. Perhaps he could reanimate her as a sort of inferi, he had always been a rather talented necromancer. In fact, he could make her into quite a lovely companion and it would finally be _his_ turn to unload all his woes and she would-

A loud roar and resounding crash announced the return of Potter and the basilisk, knocking Tom out of his overlapping thoughts. 

A flash of silver and ruby glints in the corner of Tom's eye and he turns; as if in slow motion the boy shoves the sword up through the beasts mouth. Annnnd Potter just killed Tom’s basilisk. Yes, it was trying to kill him but it's an endangered species and the human race is not. Additionally, Potter never thought to ask whether or not the creature had a name (Gladus) or a family (no, but she was on the lookout for that very special chicken and toad combo) and now it was dead and Tom was fucking tired. If this is what it was like to be a magical human in today's world, well Tom didn't know if he wouldn't have been better off back within the safe confines of his dia-journal. 

By the time Potter goes for the journal, armed with a basilisk fang all Tom can say is that he is really fucking done with this shitting twelve year old boy who can't seem to mind his own twatting business. I mean fucks sake. 

As Tom is bursting into fragments of light he can't help but wonder what Ginny will think of him when she realizes that he lied. If he wasn't in so much pain he would think it funny that he cared at all as it was most definitely not like him. Then again he had never had a friend before. 

Ginny wakes and it becomes immediately apparent to her what Tom had meant by ‘a bad thing’. Understatement of the fucking century. For while her mind is clearer than it has been in months she is unable to process anything. Not the mutilated diary (because that is _exactly_ what it fucking is regardless of Tom’s insistence otherwise) or that the boy she used to fancy (before Tom) is finally noticing her or even that up until a few minutes ago she was closer to death than a Gringotts intruder.

From the moment Ginny's eyes opened, the moment she recognizes Harry sitting next to her, the moment she finds herself surrounded in Professor McGonagall's office she feels hollow. Every person present and every word spoken falls into a dull blur around which Ginny stands staid at the center, unable to make herself move or speak or feel. The scene around her seems to shuffle and slide sideways as she is shuffled and slid from place to place. She knows they are talking to her and about her, oh how she loathes it, being a twig in the current of their needs . Ginny simply wishes it would all **stop**. Knowing only one way to achieve this, she fills the silence with their expectations of her, plastering over the hollow spots and moving her face into the shape of a relieved smile. She goes big, she goes bold, she pretends to be a person and they all eat it up as if it were the last portion of Treacle Tart.

Ginny knows that at this stage in her life she is by no means a talented actress, that these _adults_ are simply purchasing her performance so they can offload their guilt. It is in this moment with this series of detached realizations that Ginny decides she won’t ever be someone they fail to notice again.

They _kindly_ insist Ginny return home where she can recuperate, Ginny wishes she could _kindly_ insist that they fuck off but instead she politely says, “Thank you, Professors. I’ll make sure to study extra hard over the summer so I’m prepared for my second year.”

“I’m sure Luna would be willing to pitch in with a bit of tutoring, eh?” Mr. Weasley remarks with a pleasant smile. 

“Yes, we are quite lucky to have such an intelligent girl living just up the road even if she is a bit, well…” Mrs. Weasley offers a polite, if not a bit pinched, smile, “I’m sure she will be absolutely delighted for the company.” Both Professors nod in agreement, Harry does nothing having long since departed for parts unknown. The Professors, all too eager to move on, usher the Weasley’s out with generic farewells.

Well that settled that.

The moment they return to the Burrow Ginny is dispatched upstairs, packed into her slightly bumpy bed and buried under far too many blankets for some ‘much needed rest’ according to her mum. Yet Ginny’s eyes remain wide, her head a mess of static. She lays in a room that is her own and feels nothing at all.


	2. Somehow I Tried To Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Ginny Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own or make any profit from Harry Potter

In most places, sliding down the bannister would be a rather benign activity but at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where the bannisters moved as regularly or irregularly as they pleased the enterprise became shockingly dangerous or rather ‘devil-may-care’ as Ginny Weasley liked to think of it, in fact she rather cultivated her lifestyle around the phrase. So to those who knew her or even knew of her it didn’t seem entirely out of character for Ginny to be sitting side-saddle on said bannister poised to slide from the third floor and on down to the Great Hall for a hearty breakfast of peach oatmeal and bacon. As she adjusted her balance and prepared for take-off Ginny couldn’t help but think that she might have an adrenaline problem, that and of course her need to see the awe of her peers should she pull it off without getting caught. This wasn’t an actual concern as Ginny, unlike her twin brothers, never got caught. 

With a deep breath and a firm push Ginny is off and sliding down the bannister, using her magic to get her around the newel at the end of each section of stair; her crimson hair flying, eyes bright, she laughs all the way. She moves too quickly to see the finer details of the paintings she passes as some cry out and others race after her, though she imagines the tizzy her actions have cast them into and throws them a jaunty wink as recompense. Too soon her joy ends with a slam that is definitely going to leave bruises along the right side of her hip. She hops off the bannister planting her feet succinctly back into reality. Ginny turns about face and gives a deep and mocking bow to the applauding group of Gryffindors, several Hufflepuffs, and singular Ravenclaw that had been awaiting the results of her morning sojourn down the stairs.

“Well, give it over” she demands, holding her palm out to a disgruntled Ron who then digs around in the pocket of his slacks dropping three brown knuts into her hand. Ginny counts them with no small ceremony, offering him a wide grin in response. 

"It was hardly a fair win" Ron grumbles, "you used magic!"

"I’m a witch Ron, it’s my prerogative to use magic whenever I please. Additionally, it was never explicitly stated that I couldn't!" Ginny exclaims with a firm shake of her head.

"Don't listen to Ron, I think you were brilliant Gin." Harry says with a warm smile lighting up his face, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. Ginny looks down, blushing prettily.

Fred and George push through the crowd, slinging an arm around Ginny on either side. "Oh, Gin you're brilliant!" Fred exclaims in falsetto. "I'd like you to slide down my bannister sometime!" George simpers. Ginny looks at him abashed and punches him harshly in the arm. The surrounding party is a mix of laughter and disturbed glances.

"Too far, mate" says Fred as he shakes his head.

"Yeah, didn't think that one through." replies George, rubbing the back of his neck with a complexion as red as his hair.

"Right, I think that signals breakfast!" Fred says, clapping his hands together as he walks towards the Great Hall with George and the remaining crowd in tow.  
Luna flows out of the crowd and skips towards Ginny, wrapping her arms around her best friends neck and slowly turning them about, "Did you feel the wings of the Flupperwhy's as you descended?"

"Is that what that fluttery feeling was?" Ginny inquires with a genuine grin.  
Luna hums in response. "They aid those of us that are aeronautically inclined. I knew they were about you, so I was unconcerned about your descent."

"Then I am glad to have had them. It got a bit tetchy there at the end." The girls break apart, linking arms, they head toward the doors of the Hall.

"You could've gotten hurt you know." a voice issues from the window seat in front of the Hall. The girls turn to see Hermione sitting on the stone ledge with a book propped in front of her and a disapproving glare maring her usually smooth brown skin. 

"No Hermione I couldn't've, didn't you hear Luna? The Flutterwhy's were watching over me." Ginny states with a dumbfounded shake of her head.

"Flupperwhy" corrects Luna.

"Yeah, those" Ginny allows.

Hermione slams her books with a huff, slinging her bag over her shoulder and joining Luna and Ginny in their resumed walk towards the Great Hall. "Ginny, you know that's a load of tosh." 

"No Hermione I don't. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't real." Ginny bites back. Luna squeezes her arm in support.

Hermione winces, “Ginny, I didn’t mean it like that...I was just worried about you is all.”  
“I know ‘mione it’s fine.” she pauses, a smile jumping to her face once more, “I smell bacon!” Ginny exclaims, dropping Luna’s arm and grabbing both her and Hermione’s hands, yanking them excitedly through the doors of the hall and over to the Gryffindor table. 

Ginny deposits them roughly directly in front of the bacon as she swipes five crispy rashers, shoving at least three into her mouth, humming in delight.

“Ginny! I know for a fact Mrs. Weasley taught you better manners than this.” admonishes Hermione. Meanwhile, Luna has grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and begun building a bacon fort within its viscous clutches. Hermione continues to eye both of them in a mix between affrontment and barely concealed horror. 

Ginny swallows with a giant gulp that couldn’t have been anything less than painful, 

“What mum doesn’t know won’t drive her into an early grave, dearest Hermione.” Hermione simply reopens her book, occasionally taking a dainty bite from her jammy toast.

“So, are you excited for your first match tomorrow Gin?” inquires Harry, seated a few spots down from Ginny. 

“Ecstatic!” she pauses through bites of oatmeal, “Though I do feel terrible for Katie.”

“Has anyone heard from her recently?” asks Harry, his voice tinged with concern.

“The caterwauling charm Goyle placed on the room he locked her in seems to have shattered her eardrum, she's still deaf in both ears though I don’t believe Madam Pomfrey has referred her to St. Mungo’s yet.” Hermione replies without looking up from her book. 

“Have they found her wand?” Ron asks around his mouthful of eggs.

“Snapped and shoved in a suit of armour next to the classroom he had her in. I hear Headmaster Dumbledore is considering expulsion. It’s terribly taboo to snap a wizard or witches wand in such a way.” Hermione answers, with only a brief glance of resigned disgust tossed in Ron’s direction before she returns to her book. 

“Someone’s been spending too much time around Lavender and Pravati.” Ginny observes with a snicker.

This grabs Hermione’s attention, her head snapping up from her book and her eyes narrowing in on the laughing Ginny, “It’s not like I want to share a room with them! 

They talk so loudly that it’s very hard not to overhear and information is information you know!”

“What a very Slytherin thing for you to say ‘mione!” jests Ginny with a light shove.

“Well I hear they get their own rooms!” grumps Hermione.

“Three guesses where she heard that from.” inserts Ron with a smile. Luna’s hand shoots into the air in a way not entirely unlike Hermione’s own habit of avid answering. Ginny calls on her best friend with a barely contained laugh shaking her voice.

“Lavender, Parvati, and as for a third I am not entirely sure as only two were mentioned earlier but my third would have to be Professor Snape.” Luna answers calmly with an air of consideration lacing her voice and a tilted head to match. 

Ginny and the others lose it, only Hermione is left in spluttering silence.  
Once Ginny has composed herself enough to draw in breath she asks, “Why Professor Snape?” 

To which Luna replies, “The unending depth of his eyes speaks to a great well of knowledge as does his indigo aura. Additionally, he and Professor McGonagall often gossip with one another. In fact, I believe they are engaging in the practice at this very moment.” They all turn their heads to the staff table where, as Luna stated, Professors’ McGonagall and Snape sit with their heads bent in deep conversation. 

With senses that seem to be bestowed solely upon teachers, the Professors’ look up, catching the startled eyes of their students. 

Sensing disaster, Ginny whispers a barely audible “Fuck,” to which even Hermione is too shaken to admonish.

“Abort, abort, abort” Ginny whispers as all involved beat a hasty but totally casual exit from the Great Hall. The group collapses around the corner in fit of exasperated laughs. Hermione is, of course, the first one to come to her senses, “We should probably all head to class before we’re late.”

Ginny goes slightly paler than normal, “I have double potions first…”, knowing Snape’s temperament, most especially when he suspects Gryffindor-related tom-foolery is afoot, they offer her looks of sympathy as they move off to other parts of the castle. 

With a deeply heaved sigh and more than a bit of Gryffindor courage, Ginny heads down into the depths of the dungeons and most assuredly her doom.

***  
Sitting at her cauldron midway through a draft of Bottinger's Elixir, Ginny is feeling rather put out. Snape has barely even looked in her direction all morning, he hasn't even bothered to criticize how she has mashed more than sliced her eel spleen and she knows he gets a particular pleasure with each snarky reprimand. In fact, Vishti Thomas hasn't tried to sabotage her potion a single time today either, a fact which would normally have her effusing with joy but is now only adding to her steadily increasing paranoia. Ginny looks to her left and nudges her station partner and fellow Gryffindor Marlena Toombs.

"What's up with everyone today?" she asks, her voice just above a whisper. Marlena responds by giving Ginny a look that could only ever mean, ‘seriously, how can you be this dense’, but all she actually says in a mysterious mumble that Ginny has to strain to hear, “Umbridge is everywhere…” 

As Marlena goes back to stirring her cauldron and chewing on her straw blonde hair (a nervous habit she has possessed since they were firsties), Ginny ponders the wisdom in such a statement. Since Umbridge became High Inquisitor at the end of September and began her first round of class observances, the castle itself seems to be wracked with tension. Ginny tugs lightly on the hair leaking from her bun and moves her gaze to track Professor Snape as he makes his way around the room. It’s true, he does seem tenser than usual, with posture so rigid that if he were to stand still he might be mistaken for a statue or at least a scarecrow. Curious to see how deep his concern for their current toad-esque predicament is, she raises her hand and calls him over. “Professor, I wondered if you thought the consistency of my spleen, or the eels I suppose, is the right thickness? The book isn’t exactly clear...” her hazel eyes looking up to meet his own dark depths.

“The consistency is perfectly adequate, Miss Weasley.” he says perfunctorily.

No it’s not.

“It should produce the correct shade of aubergine.” Snape ads seemingly as an afterthought.

It wouldn’t without three mint leaves added in the last counterclockwise stir, which he well knew.

“Professor…” should she argue with him? Intentionally pick a fight? Feel his forehead for a fever? Instead, Ginny decides to simply say, “Thank you for your help, Professor.”

“You are quite welcome Miss Weasley.” he replies with a small nod as he slinks off, hands clasped behind his back. Ginny’s jaw drops and she stares after him in shock for several moments before blinking harshly and numbly dropping the mint leaves into her cauldron. If Professor Snape, Grumpiest Man Alive, was going around being polite to dunderheads such as herself then she was truly concerned. He got through Loony Lockhart with barely a raised eyebrow, demented Dolores could hardly be a trial for him, could she? Perhaps, it was the terrible toad but with the added pressure of a rampaging dark lord? Whatever it was, Ginny firmly believed that the moment Severus Snape cracked they were all doomed; the man is a fortress. With that resounding thought, Ginny bottles up her perfectly aubergine potion and takes the neatly labeled draft up to the Professor's desk with a smile, receiving a polite nod in return (a ‘well done’ would be too much to ask even in his current state, but a girl can hope). Ginny picks up her cracked leather rucksack and quits the classroom just as the bell rings, her peers swarming around her. 

As most of the rest of the castle is off to lunch, Ginny leisurely makes her way up to her favourite alcove in the second floor’s east wing. She plops down in front of the stained glass reimagining of the fall of Goblin Lord Ulrich the Evil and pulls out her battered copy of Lady Audley’s Secret, cracking the spine she smoothes out her dog-eared page and begins the ritual of her daily quiet hour. Or she tries to. 

Usually so able to quickly slip into her reading, today Ginny finds herself distracted by every little thing around her, for example, the incessant tapping against the stone that she can’t quite seem to find the source of- 

She looks down.

Her pointed patent pleather oxfords are beating out a jaunty tune, which sounds a bit like a hybrid of ‘God save the Queen’ and ‘Dancing Queen’, against the grey stone of her alcove. 

She still’s her foot. 

Perhaps a change of positioning is in order? Ginny crosses her ankles and swings her feet up so that they are resting in the corner of the wall nearest the mural, her hair and a good portion of her head hanging over the edge of the alcoves ledge. She grabs her book once more and holds it above her:

“He started as if he had been struck, and asked what she meant by talking of disappointment.  
"I mean this," she said, speaking rapidly, and with a restless motion of her thin hands; "I mean that as the end of the voyage draws near, hope sinks in my heart; and a sick fear comes over me that at the last all may not be well. The person I go to meet may be changed in his feelings toward me; or he may retain all the old feeling until the moment of seeing me, and then lose it…”

Ginny huffs loudly and tosses her book next to her rucksack, folding her hands and looking up to the ceiling. Umbridge would have a fit if she saw Ginny’s posture right now. Really, the nasty cow could have a fit over just about anything, what type of person walked around with a magical tape measure aggressively ensuring all students remained three inches apart at all times? Clearly someone that needed a good shag, if Ginny were braver she would tell her that, in fact if Ginny didn’t have Quidditch to worry about she-

Ginny begins to bite her nails. She pauses. Rips her fingers from her mouth and hurriedly stands and begins to pace.

Quidditch.

She was nervous about the game tomorrow morning. The first match of the year. A match against Slytherin. A match in a season that almost didn’t happen. 

It seemed a doomed thing, this match. And now, due to an unfortunate series of occurrences Ginny found herself squarely at its center, a rookie chaser on the Gryffindor team. 

Ginny knows she is a fabulous chaser, not only that, she can play every position with the ease of years of dedicated training. It is a known fact and the reason she-alone was approached to take over Katie’s position while she’s in hospital. She’s not concerned about her ability to perform, in the past two weeks of hard training she has melded seamlessly with the team. It’s not even that she has never played in front of a crowd, Ginny has been performing in front of crowds for two years and five months. Perhaps, it’s that her arrival onto the team is a year earlier than she had planned? Or maybe it is simply the niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach that something very very bad is going to happen at tomorrow's match.

The bell clangs signalling the end of the lunch period, nudging Ginny out of her paranoia. She bends over grabbing her rucksack and book, promising herself that if by dinner she truly feels she can’t face tomorrow's match she can always tell Umbitch to ‘get fucked’ in front of the entire school, thus ensuring Saturday detentions until the end of the year when something undoubtedly horrific befalls the Ministry stooge.

***  
Four hours copying words out of a textbook was a harsh reminder to Ginny of exactly why she never wanted to be put in a position where she was made to spend extra time with Umbridge. Aligning perfectly with her character, in what any sane person would term risky behaviour she had transfigured and charmed Defensive Magic: Intermediate Spells for Youths in Danger by Armenth Strict within an inch of its life so that it appeared to be Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkard. After her first defense class with Umbridge, Ginny had the incredibly hair-brained idea to use the fourth year syllabus created by Professor Merrythought, the school’s last stable Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She was ½ way through annotating her current text and looked to start on the next by the end of the year. The way Ginny saw it, it was better to be slightly out of date with practices than having no idea what the practices were to begin with, they had war on after all, even if ¾ of the population was unwilling to admit it. So as Ginny continued firming up the muscles in her now buff right hand with each line of her quill along parchment she alone was learning the spells necessary to defend herself, she knew this was a problem but had yet to think of a safe way to remedy it. She had no faith in the ability of five hundred students to keep such a secret and it seemed riotously unfair for only a select few students to learn how to defend themselves. Placing a period at the end of her sentence, Ginny forcibly removed herself from her circuitous line of thought. She had absolute faith she would figure something out. Someone had to. He couldn’t win. 

Ginny clenched her fist only to be met with an intense spasm of cramps which she ruthlessly shrugged off and flipped to the next page of her text, her keen eyes alighting on something called the ‘Bat Bogey Hex’ just as the bell rang dismissing classes for the day. Ginny promptly dog-eared the page and shoved the contents of her desktop into her bag, maneuvering past her classmates and back up to the tower so she could collect her robes for a final Quidditch practice before tomorrow's game.

***  
Three hours later, muddier and feeling marginally freer than she had all day, Ginny readjusted the grip of her arms around Fred’s neck in an effort not to choke him as the team made their way back up to the castle, Ginny far too tired to walk had made use of one of the very small benefits of having brothers. 

“We are sure to win tomorrow!” Angelina proclaims with her dreadlocks flying about her head in the fading light, a giant grin on her face. 

“Oi, Lina you’ll jinx us!” Alicia says with an equally large grin as she shoves a few wisps of hair that had leaked from her hijab back into place. 

“Nah,” says George as he slings his arm around Angelina’s shoulder, casually kissing the side of her head, “The lady just knows how to recognize vast quantities of talent when she sees it!” he flexes a bicep.

Everyone but Harry cracks a smile, which Ginny is all too soon to notice (old habits died hard). “What’s wrong Harry?” they all look at the small frown creasing his face and wait for a response, tension leaking into the once carefree atmosphere. 

Harry looks up, shaking his head with his frown still firmly in place, “I just wish I had someone to carry me…” his forlorn attitude vanishes in a snap to be replaced with a grin as they all laugh at his antics.

“Aw, Harry all you had to do was ask!” Alicia says as she stops walking and bends her knees a bit, “Come on then, I’ve got strong thighs.”

“Alicia, are you sure? I don’t want to-” Harry calmours.

Alicia shoots him a stern look, “Harry you’re seeker for a reason. You’re all tiny and compact like a Comet 360.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” Harry says and without further ceremony climbs onto the taller and stronger girls back. They all resume their trek back to the castle and just as they make it up the steps they hear the telltale banging of hammer into nail as the stone of the castle is cleaved apart to make way for a new educational decree. Ginny and Harry slide off Fred’s and Alicia’s backs as they head through the castle doors and into the entrance hall where Filch stands astride the fifth step of a suspiciously rickety ladder. A great majority of the student body stops alongside them, some heading into dinner without even a glance at the sure to be ridiculous decree. 

“What’s it say?” Angelina asks Ginny; the person nearest the front of the queue.

“Educational Decree No. 35,” she reads with her brow tensed in concentration, “All students are to be inside the castle 1 hour before sundown. No exceptions.” 

Angelina throws her arms up in the air, “How the hell are we meant to practice Quidditch now, the stupid bint?!” she makes her way towards the Great Hall, the team and the vast majority of the crowd following, save Ginny and Harry who remain behind staring stoically at the wall that is quickly being taken over by the Ministry. 

“She’s being ridiculous on purpose.” Ginny puts forth.

“And it’s only going to get worse.” Harry says, running a hand through his already messy hair. Ginny hums in agreement, turning her head slightly to study him. She nudges him gently in the shoulder.

“You okay?” she asks

“Mm fine.” he mumbles, nudging a small bit of fallen wall with his boot.

“Are not.” she states. “Missing Sirius? Or maybe...Cedric? ‘Mione mentioned you two had been swapping letters over the hols’.”

Harry shoots a quick glance at Ginny before turning abruptly and staring at the wall of decrees though it is clear he sees none of them.

“It’s not like that.” he whispers with a barely audible shake in his voice.

“But it could be, you want it to be.” Ginny pushes lightly with a considerate smile.

“Maybe,” Harry says, his voice growing stronger, “He’s coming to see us play tomorrow, told the Magpies he was scouting future talent.” a blush creeps its way along his neck and up his face. 

“He’s coming to see you play, Harry. And the only thing he’s going to be scouting out through those binoculars of his is your bum.” Ginny says earnestly with a laugh. She loops her arm through his and begins to drag him into the Great Hall, “Come on, we best get to dinner before she starts to demand attendance counts at meal times.” Harry huffs a laugh and they walk through the doors and over to the Gryffindor table, sitting down on either side of Hermione who takes a look at them both and banishes the dirt and stench from their clothes with a singular wave of her wand and a muttered word. 

“Thank you ‘mione.” they chorus with good humour to which she responds with a small smile and a wave of her hand, returning to both the large tombe and dark stew in front of her. 

“Mmm, that looks fabulous!” Ginny declares, dishing some of the same stew into her own bowl and nabbing a thick slice of bread which she immediately dunks into her stew, shoving it into her mouth with little ceremony. A sharp giggle across the table has Ginny casually looking up, meeting the shrewd olive gaze of her roommate and frenemy, Abigail Martin.  
“Oh Gin, I was just telling Miranda that it would seem Titus Shafiq can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you.” she coos, her fingers twining through her perfectly styled brown hair.

“Or Draco Malfoy for that matter…” Miranda mutters, only to be elbowed sharply by Abigail. “What?! You know he was! He couldn’t keep his eyes off of our table this morning at breakfast.”

“Miranda dear, you are quite mistaken. Draco was looking at me this morning, not Ginny.” Abigail states with a cheshire grin. “Not that you’re not lovely Ginny but you would get quite a few more suitors if you stopped wearing those ghastly baggy clothes of yours. I mean the slacks alone do you a disservice, I bet you have lovely toned legs from all that Quidditch…” she says with a surveyor's gaze.

A brash grin slinks across Ginny’s face, “Unfortunately, Abigail I don’t quite return your affections. Though, if you dropped the bitchy mean girl act maybe I could see us going somewhere, you have the loveliest bronze skin.” Abigail’s jaw drops and she begins spluttering. Ginny smoothly stands nudging Hermione lightly, “We’ll have to skip studying tonight, I should just make curfew as is.” 

Hermione looks up with curiosity, “I have patrol tonight with Parkinson anyway. Does tomorrow night work instead?”

“No, there’ll be a party after our Quidditch win. But how about a ‘study Sunday’, you, me and Luna?”

“Someones cocky; alright, Sunday works.” Hermione agrees.

“Ta. Oh, and ‘mione try not to kill Parkinson. I don’t think she means to be such an entitled brat, that’s just how her parents raised her.” Ginny moves off as Hermione calls after her, “Easier said than done!”. Ginny laughs and throws a cursory glance at the Slytherin table, catching Shafiq’s crystal blue eyes. She looks away just as quickly and makes her way out of the Hall and up the grand staircase, getting off at the third landing. She alone walks down the hallway and enters an empty classroom, desks lined up in neat rows and coated with a thin layer of dust; the windows on the left side of the room looking out onto the dark grounds where she can just see the light of Hagrid’s hut in the distance. She uses her dragon heartstring and yew wand to throw a few orbs of warm light into the air.

The door creaks open behind her and she turns to see Shafiq enter, his fluffy black hair neatly styled to the side; she aims to fix that. 

Ginny moves towards him with a light sway to her hips. She stops just in front of him and as his hands settle on her waist, she moves her own lightly up his torso, along his neck and face, sliding them firmly into his hair.

“Ginny,” Shafiq protests weakly, he knows exactly what she is doing. This is not the first time they have played this game.

She looks up at him with a fierce hunger, “You’re being too obvious,” she tightens her grip in his hair, “people are starting to notice.”

“What can I say Gin?” he whispers leaning down and butting his nose against hers, “You are simply too entrancing, and in this kit?” he fingers the fabric of her red and gold sweater, sliding his hand under the fabric and along her hard abdomen, “I could barely restrain myself from striding across the hall and devouring you then and there.” Shafiq’s voice is silky, his eyes filled with lust.  
Ginny barks a laugh and closes the distance between them, their lips meet in a passionate kiss, Shafiq’s eyes sliding closed. Ginny breaks the kiss, “Eyes stay open.” she breathes the words into his mouth. Their eyes lock. His cold, crystal blue meeting her honey hazel. Their lips meet once more.

***  
Ginny was right, she barely made it back before curfew. Blurting out the password to the disgruntled portrait of the Fat Lady, she moves through the portrait hole and into the common room out of breath. She makes a quick study of the room, and as expected she does not see Hermione or any of her brothers for that matter. She waves to a couple of students who call out to her in greeting and trudges tiredly up to her dormitory. Sliding into the oval-shaped room she sees her three roommates dotted about, Miranda and Abigail sit on Abigail's bed painting each other’s nails with colour-changing polish and Marlena is kneeled on the stone floor rooting through her trunk, her hair hanging from her mouth. “You okay Marlena?” Ginny asks as she moves over to her bed by the room's window.

“I can’t find my Divination book and I’m already a week behind on my stupid dream journal!” Marlena cries out, her voice steadily rising in panic.

Ginny goes to her walnut desk and grabs her own Divination book and hands it off to the panicking Marlena, “Here, you can borrow mine. Just toss it on the desk when you’re done.” 

Marlena springs up, taking the book from Ginny, grabbing her hand and shaking it violently, “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

Ginny pulls her hand gently from Marlena’s and pats her on the shoulder, “Really, it’s no big deal. And as far as the dream journal goes, you shouldn’t take it too seriously. I always make mine up and Trelawney gives me full marks for it every week.”

“Don’t you ever remember your dreams?” Marlena asks curiously, looking at Ginny.

“You have to sleep to dream, Marlena.” Ginny says with a hollow laugh. The silence stretches as Marlena looks at her, seemingly stricken.

Ginny laughs and forces a smile that would look genuine to anyone who didn’t know her, “Only joking Lena.” Ginny punches her shoulder lightly and Marlena laughs, relief obvious on her face.

Ginny turns and begins to dress for bed. She hasn’t had a call that close since she forgot to put up the privacy wards in her room over last summer's hols' and woke up shouting for a certain dark lord, she cringes at the mere thought of the two hour shouting match and series of explanations that that brought on. She pulls on her over-large indigo Magdalena and the March Hare’s band shirt and orange potion bottle boy shorts. 

“Night girls!” Ginny says with a giant grin, “Oh, and Abby, might I say that you look simply delectable in your pink jimjams!” her eyes coquettish as she lasciviously takes in Abigails soft pink nightgown that fastens at her chin and would not be out of place in Victorian England. 

Abby lets loose a scandalised laugh, used to Ginny’s varying antics, “Shut up, Ginny!” she squeals, throwing a tasseled pillow that Ginny dives to miss. They all laugh at the display and with a final wave goodnight Ginny slides into her bed, closing the burgundy drapes with a swish. Her grin falls immediately from her face and with a bone-deep sigh Ginny taps her wand against the fabric, enabling her customary silencing wards that she wishes she would need (she would take nightmares and some sleep over no sleep at all, any day). Taking a deep breath she lies down in the most comfortable bed she could ever imagine- with the warmest blankets, the fluffiest of pillows, and the softest of feather mattresses and once again fails to fall asleep. 

***  
As the early winter sun creeps up over the trees of the Forbidden Forest, Ginevra Weasley is up and out of bed, dressed for her customary morning run. Tying the final knot on her beaten white trainers and grabbing her pumpkin-orange Weasley sweater, she heads down into the common room. The gold and red of the room glow in the early morning light, dust particles dancing through the empty space. With a small smile Ginny stops for a moment and takes in the peace, knowing that she will have none after this. With each second that takes her nearer to the match she knows she is doomed, her fear rising in tandem with the sun. She shakes herself from her thoughts and pulls her sweater over her head and makes her way outside to commence her morning laps around the black lake.

***  
The morning seems to pass by her in a buzzing haze. She can scarcely remember her morning shower, or the donning of her uniform; even the feel of Luna’s palm in her own failed to break through her mounting terror. Now, she finds herself striding out onto the field with the team, the red and gold of her cloak flapping behind her in the light breeze as she mounts her broom. Casually, she notes it a miracle that she was able to hear the sound of the whistle over the beating of her heart. It’s sound screeches through the air, shattering everything as Ginny instinctually pushes harshly off the ground and soars into the air. As she moves up the wind takes the red of her ponytail and clouds it lightly around her. Her worries remain on the ground and she laughs giddily with the feeling of weightlessness that overcomes her as she shoots off after the quaffle. 

***  
She hears Lee announce point after point for Gryffindor. Each time he notes her name as the reason for the riotous cheers of the crowd, he does this quite often, a heady thrill shoots through her. Their win is secure. 

***  
Just as she executes a Porskoff Ploy, which had already left her off-balance with only her left hand lightly gripping her broom, something slams harshly into her entire right side.

***  
Her left hand slips.

***  
Everything slides to black. Where is the screaming coming from?

***  
She thinks it might be her.

***  
There is only excruciating pain. Her name whispered in a velvety voice that is achingly familiar, soothing her soul-deep. Then nothing.

***  
Ginny shoots upward and regrets it immediately, pain lacing through her head and acutely down her left side. She forces her eyes open, blinking roughly into the palid darkness; metal beds draped in grey wool blankets are spaced evenly around the room, all unoccupied save hers and another across the way with green drapes pulled to obscure the occupant, she thinks it must be Katie. Offhandedly she notices the giant arching windows that line the room are speckled with rain, her gaze moves to her left where the white end table to her side is covered with wilting peonies of varying colours and chocolate frogs. Her favourites. She dully ponders releasing the chocolate frogs just to watch them hop away. She hates chocolate. As a child, whenever her parents could spare a few extra knuts for paltry things like sweets, her and Ron would get chocolate frogs. Ginny simply loved to watch them move. She would release them, laughing all the way, Ron would then catch them and eat them. At the thought of a copse of animated sweets leaping down the halls, chased in earnest by Mrs. Norris, a weak impression of a laugh rasps from her lips.

Ginny eases herself slowly back into the bed, letting her head loll to the right towards the window when she notices that one of her visitor chairs is occupied by Tom Riddle.

She looks out the window, hoping to see something through the dark depths. Some indication of what-

Wait.

Tom Riddle.

She wrenches her neck in her attempt to look at the chair. He looks just as she last saw him. As an angel, though now she knows that not to be true. 

His cutting blue eyes meet her suddenly watery hazel.

She tries to form words. To say anything. He beats her to it.

“Hello, princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a whopper! Enjoy


	3. I Got So Good At Quietly Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out! Had a bit of block but I've also been a bit busy with work; if only my pay reflected how apparently 'essential' I am. Any way, enjoy!

When faced with the spectre of a homicidal Dark Lord 9 out of 10 wizards and witches polled stated that they would run hastily in the opposite direction and take care to never be placed in such a situation in the future. Ginevra Molly Weasley realized, as she made eye contact with one such Dark Lord, that she would never be one of those 9. In fact, she realized as she ripped back the covers of her hospital bed and lunged toward the blue-eyed devil that occupied her visitor’s chair, she fell well outside the spectrum of what was deemed normal. But what could she say? She had no tolerance for poxy shitehead’s who liked to shatter little girl’s hearts, Dark Lord-status be damned. Keeping this in mind- one might be able to understand that it only occured to Ginny mid-jump that Tom’s spectre/internal delusion manifesting externally held no actual form and therefore her already fragile body was, once again, in for a world of pain. So moments later when Ginny collided with Lord Voldyshorts, knocking him out of the chair with a loud crash, no one was more surprised than her except for perhaps the fuckwit in question. But like a true Gryffindor, Ginny did not let her surprise get the best of her and began wailing on him without a single moment of hesitancy. Some hits made their mark, others didn’t, but Ginny liked to think that it was the joyful ferver which counted. With each strike of her fist she could hear herself muttering some variation of “You bastard, how dare you?”, though she paid her own words little mind, listening greedily for each pained grunt or sharp intake of breath which she collected as a boon. 

She straddled him, hitting him and slapping and clawing and he did nothing, barely shielding himself with his forearms all the while saying nothing at all. Tears beat a path down her sallow skin, hanging from her chin until her violent motions had them leaving drops along Tom’s white button-up and grey knit vest. Ginny took no notice of this, nor of the slowing or precision of her hits until the pain she had pushed behind her overtook her. She sat astride her former friend, clutching at his vest with sobs wracking her small frame. Tom, unsettled at such a sight, slowly raised himself from the ground as much as he could and hesitantly wrapped his arms around his friend. He carded his fingers through her hair, the way Ginny used to run her fingers through his hair on the rare occasion when he brought her into the diary. For a moment, a small sliver of a fraction of time, she let him hold her, breathing him in (a ghosting scent of chai, parchment, and leather) before violently pushing away from him with a harsh whisper of “No” that she continues to chant as she curls into a ball on the asperous floor, her legs too weak to stand. 

Tom is caught frozen on the ground, his hand hovering hesitantly above Ginny’s prone form. After a moment of utter stillness, with only her quiet murmurs in the way of noise he shakes himself and stands, smoothly withdrawing towards the wall in what has to be the most timid action he has ever acquiesced to. 

As he stands backed against the wall his ever-active mind can’t help but be vexed over several things like the location of the Matron and why he ever allowed himself to think for a single moment that he was capable of having and keeping a friend. No one would ever understand him and that was fine, he had simply thought, only for a moment mind you, that little Ginny had been different.

With a tired sigh, Tom rubs a hand across his face and glances quickly back over to Ginny who seems to have gained a wracking shiver during his moments of inaction. Only able to restrain himself for a moment longer Tom whispers a quiet, ‘Fuck’ and strides over towards Ginny scooping her up in a single motion. She whimpers and he huffs a dry laugh.

“You have to let me help you, princess.” he murmurs as he lays her gently back down on the hospital bed, tucking the woolen blanket around her shivering form.  
Ginny seems to recollect enough of herself to harshly whisper “Bite me.” before slipping into unconsciousness. 

A true grin breaks across his face, he never could resist her fire.

***

Ginny awakes to a haze of gold and yellow, long stalks of green grass tickling all along her body. She shoots up from the ground with a burst of giggles, her movements comparable to that of a roadrunner through molasses. Languidly turning her head back and forth she catches sight of her favourite climbing tree in the background and a towering, teetering structure that could only be the Burrow in the foreground. Feeling like she’d just downed an entire bottle of Tizer in one go, she spins through the auric haze, gleefully consuming the halcyonic atmosphere that a distant part of her seems to recognize is a vast departure from the world she had previously occupied. 

With the sudden whim to head for the Burrow, Ginny seems to make it inside the cluttered kitchen with barely two steps through the spacious field. Sighting a bright green apple resting on the knotted wooden table she swipes it with a rapacious eye, accidentally displacing a booklet of some sort which plops idly to the floor. Taking a bite of the apple and smacking her lips against the tart taste Ginny kneels down, the worn wood rough against her knees, she lets the apple roll free from her palm in favour of picking up the tiny grey booklet. She flips it over taking in the caricature of a well-groomed, blonde haired, girl in a witch's hat batting her eyes beatifically. Ginny’s eyes flit up to the title, ‘How to turn your banshee of a daughter into the perfect House-Witch in 13 easy steps’, her fingers slacken, the booklet fluttering to the floor and suddenly Ginny is no longer a laggardly fourteen year old in dungarees but an apprehensive eight year old in a bright pink dress with far too many bows.

She sits on her hands at the kitchen table with her legs swinging gently, “But mum, why can’t I play Quidditch too?” Ginny whines with a small frown, the warmth she had formerly felt now leeching slowly from the room with each tick of the family clock.

Molly Weasley wipes her sudsy hands on her apron and turns towards her daughter with a look of pure exasperation, “Ginny, Quidditch is a game for boys. You are a young lady.”

Ginny’s legs stop swinging and she looks at her mum with all the temerity an affronted eight year old can muster, “The Holyhead Harpies is an entire team full of girls and when I’m big enough I'm gonna be one of them and I won’t let you stop me!” she shouts.

“You will do no such thing, Ginevra! Those women are hardly anything to model yourself by and I won’t have my only daughter taking up with the likes of them!” Molly states sternly with a voice of pure steel and her hands fastened to her hips, “Now,” she picks up the instructional booklet and forces a pleasant demeanor, “where did we leave off?”, she flicks through the pages.

Ginny takes her hands from underneath her and smooths out her hideous dress, some sniffles slip through her embittered countenance which her mother pointedly ignores. 

“I think a nice little tea party is in order after your lessons, hmm?” Molly proclaims with a warm grin.

As Molly continues to prattle on about the minutiae of tea parties, Ginny swallows back her tears and with a tightening of her jaw she begins to nurture the fire that swells inside of her. 

Very suddenly it is later that day, when she is meant to be hosting tea time in her patchwork atrocity she is instead sitting astride Fred’s broom strapped into a pair of Ron’s old jeans with a bit of rope, fifteen feet in the air, practicing hitting a quaffle with the end of her broom (The Weasley Wack). And if while she was practicing it just so happened that she was a little too close to the house and the quaffle simply happened to go through the sitting room window, well then one could hardly say Ginny had acted unprovoked.

Molly did not agree, and so it was as Ginny stood in front of her mother trying to affect something close to remorse while her mother berated her that Ginny finally snapped, “I don’t see why you’re so angry! You can fix the window with a wave of your wand!”

“That is not the point Ginevra Weasley! You cannot behave this way! You are meant to act like a lady not a- a- ruffian!” Molly shouts gesturing with wild gesticulations.

“Women of the Prewitt line have been raised this way dating back to the 1600’s. It does not matter whether you bear the name or not! We are all that is left and it is our duty to uphold the traditions that matter before we have nothing left of them at all and it will be as if they were never here…” Molly’s voice slowly tapers off as she wipes tears from her eyes. 

Ginny moves towards her aggrieved mother and tries to comfort her with a hug which Molly gratefully accepts. As they break apart she pats Ginny warmly on the cheek and says, “Try not disappoint me in this as well, Ginny dear, hmm?”

Ginny freezes, tendrils of cold flowing through her as something inside of her crumples, her fire flickering to the point of burning out. Though it is the absolute last thing she wants to do, knowing even at her young age that any further entreaties will simply mark her as a further mistake she flatly says, “Yes, mum.” and as her short arms fall away from around her mother they seem to grow longer, landing soundly palm down against the counter of the Burrow’s kitchen. In the reflection of the window above the sink Ginny is plainly able to see that she is no longer her wily eight year old self but a temperate eleven. Though the scene may have changed the yellow of her first awakening in this world is long gone, the blue of the last scene having diluted into a sable grey. 

The door to her left swings open and her father strides in with a cheery call of “Morning all!” and Percy hot on his heels with queries about the goings on at the Ministry. Everyone is all liveliness and gaiety save Ginny, even Harry who has clearly been through something with his muggle relatives, has a smile. They all notice that she is lacking. Her father tries to hide it with affable smiles that are dashed baldly against the wall with each shake of Percy’s head and her mother’s small frowns that flit to and fro along her face; Ron shrugs it off as a personality defect and the twins constantly try to spur her into amusement, a kindness which she rewards with a polite smile and ladylike laugh. As she ambles from the room Ginny muses that she is living her life as an anachronism, lonely in a house fit to bursting with people, and while she knows her family loves her she often feels more like a project than a person. 

Ginny steps from the threshold of the kitchen and is suddenly outside once more, in a world resplendently drenched with light. A grin springs unbidden to her face and she twirls around, her white sundress flaring up around her as she falls laughing into the arms of the briery grass. 

The loud thump of a book falling next to her marks an abrupt change in her demeanor because Ginny is suddenly very aware of where she is and what this is. All hazy sense of befuddlement leaving her for the weight of keen understanding.

The book isn’t a book, it's a diary.

The memories weren’t simply memories but her path to Tom.

In her first memory of him, he is drenched in the golden brilliance of light and sunshine. When he was just a bedraggled little diary stamped with the initials T.M.R and she a bedraggled little girl perched in the tallest tree of her family’s backyard at the frayed ends of summer. He was someone in a great field of noone. She was a reluctant lady that ached for every scrap of rebellion, anything to rekindle the fire, and Tom never said no. 

Through this series of relizations, Ginny has absentmindedly taken ahold of her little black book, clutching it to her chest. She knows how this memory ends.

Flipping onto her stomach, she wistfully runs her fingers along the smooth leather, then opening the diary and pulling a plen she had swiped from her father's shed out from the self-constructed pocket of her dress, she twists off the capature and writes along the top of the yellowing blank page, 

Dear Diary,   
My name is Ginevra Weasley.

The freshly inked letters are absorbed by the page and for a singular moment there is nothing, and then:

Hello Ginevra, my name is Tom Riddle.

Ginny’s eyes open to the ceiling of Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

***

Ginny delicately pushes herself up from her hospital bed refusing for a moment to turn her head. She looks down at her freckled wrist and pulls her grime covered orange scrunchy (most likely still on her person thanks to Luna and her astute eye) she takes up her red hair and throws it into a messy bun atop her head. She pauses for a breath then takes a cursory look around the room. Much to her relief the examination turns up an absolute void of fiendish turncoats though she does happen to catch the eye of Madame Pomfrey who immediately quits her office with a delighted chortle. 

“Miss Weasley! It is so good to see you finally awake!” with a flick of her wand Madame Pomfrey produces a glowing list of Ginny's vitals that she quickly begins to peruse with a light smile.

Ginny however does not share the Matron’s goodcheer, “‘Finally’? How long was I asleep?!” 

“Oh, three days I should say. Today is Tuesday the 7th of November and just before you woke the lunch bell rang which should mean-” Madame Pomfrey is saved from finishing her sentence when the door to the Hospital Wing is swung open and they both turn their heads to see Luna and Hermione entering the ward, who upon noticing her awakened state, rush toward her bedside.

As they make it to her bedside, Hermione turns towards Madame Pomfrey and asks in a voice far too serious to match that of a fifteen year old schoolgirl, unless of course it was emanating from the girl in question, who would seem quite off-form without such a tone, “The results of the scan have come back clear?”

Madame Pomfrey raises an eyebrow and gives Hermione an amused smile, “Yes Miss Granger, Miss Weasley will make a full recovery.” she turns to Ginny, “I will leave you in the capable hands of Healer Granger and Miss Lovegood. Make sure they don’t stay too long and, barring relapse, we shall see about releasing you tomorrow morning.” The girls chorus their thanks and she turns and heads back to her office, lightly shutting the door.

“Healer Granger? I thought I’d only been out three days? Or have you gotten another time turner?” Ginny says with a laugh.

Hermione blushes and stammers, “We were all really scared when you didn’t wake up right away so, naturally, I did some research on healing and may have accidentally questioned Madam Pomfrey’s standard of care.”

“Oh, ‘mione.” Ginny says with a fond smile and shake of her head.

“As penance I am to help her in the Hospital Wing after classes three times a week, which truly isn’t even a hardship,” Hermione’s face lights up, gears visibly turning in her head as she looks off into the distance, “I mean can imagine all of the information and practical skills I’m going to acquire? I’ll be set if I decide to do a Healing apprenticeship after graduation. And it’s incredibly beneficial and practical knowledge to have for the war effort, and-”

“And it will really allow you to improve your bedside manner and social skills.” Luna says serenely.

Just as Hermione looks like she is about to mount a vigorous defense of her social capabilities, Ginny laughs in a way that seems to brighten the watery sunshine already streaming through the windows and states with profound seriousness, “I really really missed you guys.” 

Hermione emits a small whimper before dropping her school bag and throwing her arms around Ginny. Luna squeals “Group Hug!” throwing half her body onto the bed in order to securely affix herself to the two girls. 

They stay like this for a few moments before Ginny mumbles from under the both of them, “I love you lot and everything but it has just occurred to me that aside from the whole ‘falling from my broom thing’, I don’t really know much about what happened...”

Hermione jerks back suddenly inducing Luna to affably reposition herself curled in next to Ginny against the top of the metal bed-frame. 

“You mean no one told you?!” she exclaims with shock.

Ginny looks at Hermione dumbfounded and raises her hand in a mocking wave, “Hello, newly risen?”

“Haha,” Hermione says with little humour, “I thought Madam Pomfrey would have said but in any case we can inform just as aptly.” she repositions herself so that she is sitting on the bed in front of Ginny’s criss-crossed legs.

They all settle in for what any bystander would recognize as a group of life-long friends meeting up for a good natter, “It was Draco Malfoy.” Hermione states, “He was trying to avoid a bludger and didn’t see you in time. It was horrible. Professor Snape cast the slowing charm just in time. Paired with my cushioning charm, you simply rebounded from the ground with barely a concussion and some bruising to show for it.”

“The broom survived as well.” adds Luna, idly twirling her hair around her fingers.

“That’s why it was so disconcerting when you didn’t wake up right away. There was no magical or medical reason we could ascertain that prohibited your immediate recovery.” continues Hermione. 

Ginny considers mentioning her recent visitation with ‘ghosts of Voldemort’s past’ for a trice, as she looks at the open and warm faces of her two closest friends but the resounding thought of ‘wacky weasel’ pushes the words back down her throat. She won’t be that girl again. She has worked too hard for far too long, and anyway it was just a feverish delusion. No need to get worked up about that.

“Well, I’m awake now and three days the poorer. What’s the hot goss?” Ginny asks, leisurely pulling a chocolate frog from the end table and releasing it from its encasement. It takes off into the air with one giant spring and a disapproving look from Hermione, only to be caught by Luna whose arms shoot out like a real frog's tongue would to catch a fly. Luna begins to lick it like a lollipop, chocolate coating her fingers, whilst Hermione and Ginny chat about schoolwork.  
“You mustn't forget that Harry and Draco very nearly got into fisticuffs after the match.” Luna says in between licks. Hermione shoots her a reproachful look.

“What!? Honestly ‘mione, I’m going on about the difference between Futhark and Elder Futhark while you casually sit there with the knowledge of interhouse warfare that occurred over my immobile corpse!” Ginny says with feigned outrage.

“Oh, honestly, they never actually hit each other. Neither of them have any fighting skills; it was more like Harry tackled Malfoy and they had a slap fight.” Hermione deadpans, “And I was going to let Harry tell you this, Luna, but Harry’s been banned from the Quidditch team for the duration of the year by Umbridge for ‘conduct unbecoming’.”

“And let me guess, Malfoy received copious amounts of attention from his sycophants and a courtesy trip to the Hospital Wing?” Ginny queries sardonically.

“Well spotted.” confirms Hermione.

“Harry did attack Draco without any verifiable proof, though.” Luna adds, not looking at either girl. She appears instead, to be focused on levitating a dust bunny with her wand.

There is a moment of silence as both girls study their usually aloof friend, then they glance at one another before Hermione finally says, “Harry does seem to have an unusual fascination with Malfoy. I mean yes, he is accountable for a fair few transgressions but he is not always responsible for all the bad things.” Hermione rubs the back of her neck, “Especially, for the whole ‘knocking Ginny off her broom thing’, I mean I saw his face afterwards. He was absolutely dismayed, in fact I believe most of the peonies are from him.”  
“I do love peonies.” Ginny states with a vigorous nod of her head, “I’ll have to thank him.”

“You might approach him in the Great Hall tomorrow at breakfast.” Luna ventures. Ginny throws her a confused look which Hermione notices and says, “House tensions are at an all time high. Not only was Gryffindor’s new star player hobbled by the Prince of Slytherin but said Prince was a contributory factor in the suspension of the ‘best seeker in a decade’. No one’s lashed out yet but if you had been unconscious any longer I have no doubt Umbridege’s detentions would have increased in occupancy tenfold.” 

The bell clangs, signalling the end of lunch.

“Oh, bugger. I’m going to be late for Care…” Hermione mutters as she jumps off the bed with a quick glance at her thin wristwatch, grabbing her bag and pulling out her wand she points it at Ginny and mutters a spell.

“Oi!” Ginny exclaims.

“Sorry,” Hermione mutters halfheartedly, “just wanted to run a quick diagnostic spell before I left…” she lightly flicks her wand and looks up with a smile, “Just as I thought, you are free and clear!” she leans forward and gives Ginny a quick squeeze and then makes her way hurriedly through the double doors.

Luna slides off the bed but Ginny lightly grabs her wrist before she can make it too far away, she looks back at Ginny.

“Draco? Do you want to talk or…” asks Ginny, searching the dreamy gaze of her best friend.  
Luna smiles, turning her wrist, she grabs hold of Ginny’s hand, both leaning forward and gently tugging Ginny until they meet with a firm hug in the middle.

“The flupperwhy’s really like you.” she whispers with tears lacing her voice.

Ginny tightens her hold, “I’m really lucky to have them then, yeah?” tears fill her voice as well, “I think the necklace helps too though, elsewise they’d never see me.” Ginny says, referring to the necklace Luna made for her when they first became friends. Evidently made from the woven hair of a demiguise with a golden oval-shaped locket at its center that has been carved with all manner of runes, it contains the small pastel wings of fallen flupperwhys. Though it is occasionally itchy, Ginny only ever removes it for bathing.

Luna pulls back from Ginny, “You never needed the necklace,” she stands and grabs her pastel green bag that is covered with a variety of dark purple exterior pockets, “they are attracted to those ‘pure of heart and intention’.” with a jolly wave in farewell and a gentle flick of her wand, Luna makes her way through the Hospital Wing’s doors, a trail of books and rolls of parchments floating from her rucksack and towards Ginny. They land with various thumps, in neat piles around her on the bed.

Ginny grins broadly and with a light shake of her head organizes the books and rolls of parchment around her, picking up a quill and grabbing a jar of ink with the intention of digging into her homework but-

Suddenly her focus narrows, the quill flutters numbly from one hand, the jar of ink dropping from the other and rolling from the bed to shatter to the floor in a spreading well of black that Ginny neither sees nor hears. The sharp earthy smell of the parchment seems to overwhelm the spacious room, interlaced with the lingering spicy scent of chai and suddenly Ginny can’t breathe-

Her hand flies to her chest, her palm running the line of her sternum as she tries to pull in measured breaths. She feels knit wool rub along her freckled arm-

The foreign silk of parseltongue whispers harshly through the suddenly darkening room-

Ginny’s head snaps up, her eyes connecting with a pair of searingly familiar crystal blue eyes mere inches from her face. Tom Marvolo Fucking Riddle tilts his head to the side, studying her like any psychopath would their prey. 

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office crashes open and everything seems to snap back like a rubber band, leaving Ginny confused and blinking dazedly through the golden sunlight. Tom is once again absent, if he was ever here at all…

“Miss Weasley, are you quite alright?” asks Madam Pomfrey, resting a hand on the trembling girl's shoulder.

Ginny looks up at her as if she is seeing her for the first time, “I thought...I must have fallen asleep sitting up, silly me!” she says with a chuckle that falls flat.

“Quite. It would seem you dropped your ink.” the Matron says, stepping back from the spill. She repairs the glass tumbler and replaces its contents with a few waves of her wand.

“Thank you Madame Pomfrey.” Ginny says sheepishly, taking up the repaired ink and setting it gently on the end table.  
“Quite alright, dear. What do you say to a nap? Hmm? I shall wake you up for dinner and you can complete your coursework after that if you feel up to it?” she asks kindly.

Ginny aquieses quickly and helps Madam Pomfrey shift the books and parchment to the side table. She yanks her hair from its scruchy, replacing it on her wrist and running her hands through the tangled snarls of red and reclines back into the bed.

“Do you need a dreamless sleep potion, dear, or will you be alright?” Madam Pomfrey asks, fussing with the blankets of Ginny's bed. Ginny idly wonders if she will kiss her on the forehead before she wishes her sweet dreams.

“I’ll be fine Madame Pomfrey, thank you.” she says with a polite smile.

The frown on the Matron’s face twitches as she sets the blue bottled potion on top of a book on the side table, “I’ll just leave it for you here, in case you change your mind.” she heads back into her office with a worried backward glance.

Ginny flips over so that she is facing the doors, pushing her hair roughly behind her ear, she pulls the coarse blanket up to her chin. Her eyes remain wide open, a singular mantra running through her mind, falling from her lips in a quiet murmur, “He’s not back, you're fine. He’s not back, you're. He’s not back, you’re fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> My portrayal of Mrs. Weasley may seem a bit harsh than the one we are used to from the books and especially from the film but I want to emphasize that Mrs. Weasley loves her daughter, she was simply expecting a daughter not another son. Ginny is far more masculine than Molly would like, she waited so long for a daughter and we all know how controlling Molly can be when things don't fit to plan. Anyway I want to reassure you that this is not a Weasley!bashing fic in any way but I need there to be realistic reasons for Ginny's distance from her family. It is canon that Ginny secretly practiced Quidditch, and none of her brothers realized that she was possessed/that something was up, so that certainly lends to a disconnection from her family and a lack of understanding. I will promise though that Ginny and Molly will eventually come to some sort of understanding that allows them to positively move forward in their relationship.


	4. I Get A Little Broken Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is our choices that define the paths we take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: The chapter contains suicidal ideation as well as themes of mental illness, nothing is too terribly over the top but it is most definitely there. Also this chapter jumps around a lot and is meant to mirror Ginny's fragmented mental state so the writing is more experimental than linear and due to AO3 formatting allowances it doesn't look exactly as I would like it to so hopefully Ginny's mental state comes across without all the italics etc.
> 
> This is the chapter I wrote the whole story for and it will also be the last chapter in this story, further notes and explanations can be found at the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: I Get A Little Broken Over You

She likes to think of the constellation of light brown freckles that dot along the expanse of her body as the nails that hold together the porcelain of her fractured doll-form. 

As long as she has her freckles the parts and pieces that make up Ginevra Molly Weasley will remain as a whole. So it simply does not matter that as she walks the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the imposing form of Tom Riddle struts just behind her, just in the corner of her eye, with a self-satisfied smirk carved into his grotesquely beautiful face. She has her freckles, so he cannot break her. She is safe.

She has to be safe. 

This has to be okay...

***

A secret: She used to look for the blue of his eyes in other people. 

***

She is  **_not_ ** safe.

This is  **_not_ ** okay.

***

Ginny thinks that Tom might want to throw things at her; she doesn't know whether she should be more glad or concerned that the only thing he can touch is her. 

She thinks a conjured dagger shoved ruthlessly into her heart would be better than the cruel hands that are sliding up along her throat- the slight pressure he exerts that sends a traitorous trill down her spine, a swoop through her lower belly. 

His anger is loud in its silence, crackling in his eyes and through his touch.

She looks through him. Lifeless. Deathly. Dead.

His hands slip from her, his frown as permanent as the grooves above his brow and the clench of his jaw. 

This is how they are now. His anger is a flash of lightning and she is a desert; there is simply nothing there for it to strike. 

He burns and she is nothing.

Thus is her tactic for she knows that this dark lord in the making, this spiteful little boy, never did like to play with broken toys.

***

She goes to meals early and leaves earlier.

When questioned: She is fine, but busy. This is the company line.

***

Ginny has decided that it would not be wise to sleep- that’s how he got to her last time.

Well, one of the ways; but the playbook has changed a bit since the last time, in fact, there is no book at all.

He has more power than before, she can’t simply abandon him in the loo. He is with her always, she knows he is just waiting for the moment she is no longer in control.

Then he will consume her, whole and entire. Ginny knows that of all the things that have changed this is his ambition, just like last time.

So she won’t sleep.

***

Two days in and she has worked through the rest of the semesters material in all of her classes.

She is fine.

***

Ginny stands outside of Transfiguration, hair leaks from her messily constructed ponytail laying against her neck in slashes of red that run down over her misbuttoned sweater. 

She glances at the thin black watch on her wrist. The second hand ticks past the 12 and she pulls an orange journal from her shoulder bag, it has been five minutes. 

She is usually safe during classes, he hasn’t tried anything yet...that she knows of...but the point is she  _ must _ know, she  _ must _ be absolutely sure, she  _ must _ remain in control.

She takes her self-inking quill (a gift from Hermione on her last birthday)...

**Hermione**

Ginny violently shakes her head, refocusing she notes the time and her location at the bottom of a long list of similar notations. She quickly closes the book and shoves it in her bag as Professor McGonagall opens the door for class.

***

T O M to me too long...long to longingly...Nope.  _ No _ **pe** .

Right but it should be wrong, it  _ is  _ wrong w r o n g w r o n g ggggggg

After- there has got to be a morning after this one long arse day

Unprepared. They are all so utterly fucking unprepared for the avalanche of shite that is about to befall them. Why is she wasting her time listening to Binns prattle on about goblins?! Why are any of them listening to him?! They are about to be in the trenches for Merlin's sake! Ginny stands up abruptly in the middle of Binns’ lecture, which of course he doesn’t notice, and she thinks she shoves over her desk after a couple of short huffs and a quiet grunt. She knows that people are staring at her (still not Binns), she walks out in a huff after a quick shout of “Worthless!” with her hands thrown up in the air and harsh and penetrating glare directed at Binns. She thinks other people might have followed her, she thinks she accidentally started a revolution in History of Magic.

Masterful. Or so he  _ thinks  _ he is, but she knows. Oh boy, does she know. He may not think she knows but she is wise to his trickery, his skulduggery. All bold as brass walking next to her with his plans- she snaps, shoving him violently to the side and is rewarded with a true look of surprise from the prat as he falls to the ground in a woolen heap.

Arsehole.

***

She makes it a total of four days before the hallucinations start.

Ginny laughs madly in the near-empty library- she couldn’t even think that and keep her composure. Her hallucination(?) is sitting on her right, entirely unamused by her antics, she simply ignores him and turns to her left where her newest delusion sits; she’s crying too. 

Ginny studies the woman’s high cheekbones and dolent eyes, “What’s brought you to the party?”, she’s never been more serious.

The woman doesn’t bother to wipe away her silvery tears as she whispers, “I was betrayed by a man I thought to be my friend…”

Ginny nods sagely, “Soul sisters, then.” Tom harumphs next to her knowing that any remark will be summarily ignored.

Ginny looks back down at the charms text in front of her, perusing the bleary words that might be in some form of aramaic until she hears a hissing across from her and looks up only to find a great green python in a suit (cravat and all) sitting across from her.

“SSSSSven.” he hisses.

Ginny tries to find the words. She looks to her soul sister for answers only to find that she has face-planted into the dark wood table. She refuses to look to the ‘french mistake’ for help, even in trying times such as these.

Taking a deep breath, she regains her composure and turns to Sven, “Terribly rude of me, it is a pleasure to meet you Sven, my name is Ginny.”, she tilts her head dreamily to the side in a manner far too reminiscent of Luna, “May I enquire as to why your suit has arms?”

“Onlyyy one in myy sssizze.”

Accepting this, “Right. Well you look lovely. Best dressed snake in the place.” The snake grins (???!!!???) at Ginny with a gentle flick of his tongue, she offers a manic smile in return and retreats hastily to her book.

Several hours and a quick farewell to both woman and Sven, Ginny is back in her dorm room and on her knees in front of a frightened Marlena, “Lena please, I’m concerned that there might be worse than Sven or that he might have a top hat somewhere and I really don’t think I could cope if he found a top hat! I will give you my first-born, or-or a stake in my soul! One of those has to be worth something to you-”

“Ginny, I don’t want either of those things,” sensing a dismissal Ginny starts to blubber frantically about dead chickens until Abigail interrupts the exchange with a smart slap that sends Ginny’s face whipping in the opposite direction, “Knock it off Weasley, you’re scaring her!”

Ginny sobers immediately, rising from the floor, “Sorry Marlena, Abigail; I never usually let it get this bad,” quickly adopting a forlorn expression, “it’s just since the quidditch accident, i’ve been sleepwalking and potions don’t help and I just didn’t want to fall down the stairs and end up back in the hospital wing again so sleeping is out of the question unless-”

“Unless you can get someone to spell your drapes shut or something of the like so you can’t leave the bed and go pottering about the castle?” Abigail answers.

“Exactly.” Ginny says with an overexcited smile.

“Done. Get some sleep, Weasel.”

And so it's done and Ginny is in bed and praying she doesn’t need to use the loo in the middle of the night. As she drifts off Ginny is comforted by the fact that at least the chickens will be safe.

In retrospect, she should have prayed for a dreamless sleep. The memories she seems to slip into every time she closes her eyes are somehow worse than even the hell her waking world had become.

***

In a world of grey, they alone are in colour.

Well, them and the sconces on the walls which still flicker the bright gold of a warming flame for reasons that an older and wiser Ginny would put to a symbolic manifestation of the safety she thought they both felt in that world that was theirs alone.

Or more accurately, her feelings of genuine safety and his need to lull her into a false sense of surety. 

So it was, but also is, that inside a tatty little black book inscribed with the letters T.M.R, a black-haired boy weaves his lithe fingers through the thick ginger locks of a young girl as she reads to the boy from his battered copy of  _ Dante’s Inferno _ . 

In this moment, as his hands slide through the silk of her hair, as her fingers thumb against the rough parchment of his book, they are content. They are safe. And in the unusually drab tones of his dormitory, they alone are woven of incandescent colour.

_ “Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people-” _

Ginny stops reading, a frown working its way along her lips, “What does the M stand for?” she tilts her head slightly to the right, Tom gently nudges it back into place.

“What ‘M’?” Tom mutters, the majority of his attention focused on the french fishtail braid he is weaving through her hair.

Ginny huffs with impatience, “Your M, silly.” she says matter-of-factly.

He makes no response, his hands still gliding nimbly through her copper tresses.

A grin inches into the corner of Ginny’s mouth, “Honestly, Tom  **M** Riddle sometimes I think you might secretly be a blonde!”, just as Tom is tying off the braid Ginny wrenches from his grasp only to whip around, shoving her hands into the thick waves of his dark brown hair, throwing the causally artistic ripples into a hectic smattering of curls.

A surge of anger overtakes the young dark lord as he yanks her small hands from the bird's nest that is now his hair. This fearsome half of a sixteen year old boy glows with thoughts of ‘how dare this nothing of a girl think to assault  _ his  _ sovereign form’ up until the moment he looks down into Ginny’s open face and wide smile. She trusts him. But more than that, she is unafraid of him. She is  _ comfortable  _ with him. Even if the ‘ _ him’  _ she is comfortable with is only a half of his whole, but then again, he is only a half of the whole Tom Riddle. His anger melts in an instant and the only word that falls from his lips is “Marvolo.”

Ginny tests the word along her lips before saying, “It’s certainly a very ‘wizard’ name, but I still prefer Tom.”

Tom looks down at their hands and shakes his head in disgust, “Tom.” he pulls his hands away from hers, “It is so terribly muggle. A dirty, common name. I can barely stand to be called by it.” 

Ginny searches his face, the downcast set of his mouth, the tension in his brow, the clench of his jaw. Slowly she raises her hand and rests her palm on his cheek like she sometimes sees her Mum do when her Dad has had a particularly trying day at the Ministry. The leeching cold of his eyes meet the luminous warmth of hers, “I don’t think names matter half as much as the way people in our lives say them. ‘Ginevra’ is as witchy as can be but I hate it, up until the moment I hear you say it. Then I don’t mind so much.” Ginny says candidly, “Tom, like Ginevra is just a name until it isn’t. You’re  _ my  _ Tom, unless, of course, you’d prefer to be  _ my  _ Marvolo.”

Tom cracks a smile as he gently guides her warm hand from his face, “So wise for one so young. I think I shall keep to being  _ your _ Tom,  _ my  _ Ginevra.” They grin warmly at one another.

Ginny blinks awake into the growing light of the fourth year girls dorm in Gryffindor Tower. She stares through the crack in the red velvet of her drapes and meets Abigail’s olive eyes as she adjusts her red and yellow striped tie.

“Ginny…” Abigail starts. Ginny breaks eye contact and bodily flips to face her window instead. Abigail huffs angrily, “Fine. Be that way. But if you cost us any more house points because you missed classes again, I am going straight to McGonagall!” Abigail grabs her book bag and storms from the room, the echo of the slammed door resonating for long moments after her departure. 

Ginny takes the long sleeve of her brown flannel and scrubs it through the tracks of tears that line her face in varying stages of moisture. She attempts to breathe through her clogged nose, looking to the window ledge where a moody Tom Riddle stares out at the school grounds. 

Ginny flips over once more, with newly wet eyes.

***

Ginny is sat in an armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room staring disinterestedly into the fire contemplating the variety of ways one can go insane, as is her right mind you, when she is bombarded by a herd of angry Weasley's, a sheepish Chosen One and the ever-righteous 'brightest witch of her age'. 

While Ginny is well aware that she has been behaving more like a paranoid hermit than her usually bright and bubbly self, an intervention is honestly a bit overkill.

(is what Ginny would think if she were able to gather herself together)

Hermione steps out of the mob of nervous faces, revealing herself as the de facto leader (to no one’s surprise). With her hands planted firmly on either hip and her unruly curls crackling around her in determination, she opens her mouth and…

Ginny knows she must say something, in fact, she is probably saying quite a lot of things that most probably have to do with the value of friendship and the pathways of open communication and it’s not that Ginny can’t be bothered to pay attention it is simply that…

If HE  _ is real _ he could  **kill them** .

Harry crashing to his knees, clawing angry red grooves into his scar

Fred and George lay side by side-the ghost of a smile on each face-eyes empty

Ron his face going from shock to acceptance as he is enveloped by a flash of green light

Hermione screaming: enchanted knives carving her blood status in a litany all over her body

Luna’s abused frame  _ naked _ curled into a ball, her body vibrating with tremors, her wide blue eyes vacant

If HE _isn’t real_ isn’t real then she doesn’t want them to see her **come apart** in this way.

A cascade of nails fall to the floor- every one echoing with a resounding crack - each a new fissure rending her flesh down to the bone up until the final loss that shatters her into a thousand pieces scattering asunder to shatter separately dissipating desperately done grievously gone

Hermione is still speaking when Ginny stands from the chair.

***

She is through the portrait-hole and making her way down the slowly emptying corridors and before she is even aware of where she is headed she is sitting on the stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower.

Ginny Weasley stares up at the vast deep velvet, dotted as it is with people whose names and stories were sewed into the substance of worlds eternal and she longs to be either known as they are in their tragedy or to be free from the state forever.

The world should know and rage and understand all that she is about to give up. All of her could’ve beens, might’ve dones. 

“Ginevra...please get down.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to see him. She already knows the crinkle in his brow and the gentle reach of his right hand from the catch in his voice.

_Because i knew you_ _i thought i knew you with my whole heart_ _but it wasn’t real_

“Go away”

“I can’t do that.” The shake of his head is as swift as the end of their friendship and as decided as the destruction that ere long awaits them.

“I know.” she says with the kind of smile one only gives when a thing is truly about to end.

He knows this too. “Princess, I need you to trust me. ” 

_ “I can’t.” she whispers with a minute shake of her head that seems so much more vehement in the chasm that is slowly wrapping itself around them.  _

_ Ginny spins herself around so that she is facing Tom and with a gentle smile she lightly pushes herself up to her feet and throws her arms out falling backwards into the night just as Tom charges towards her.  _

_ And then Ginny is no longer falling but standing next to Tom in the vast, echoing emptiness that is the Chamber of Secrets. And Ginny is not fourteen but twelve. _

_ “I never left the chamber.”  _

_ “Nor did I.” _

  
  


_ OR _

**Ginny gets down from the ledge and hesitantly moves towards Tom. She looks at him-her entire form trembling with the need of this truth-he slowly takes her hand and presses her palm against his chest over where his heart would be-if he had ever had such a human thing- “I** **_am_ ** **here” he whispers “you have me.”**

**Her face crumples and she is all heaving breast and hot tears, “I looked for you in** **_everything_ ** **\- for so long, Tom,** **_for so long_ ** **. I** **_ached_ ** **for you and you never came! You don’t get to be here now,” her knees give out and he eases her to the ground- one hand still pressing hers against his chest in an almost desperation, “I was finally doing okay- I made the team…” with a harsh and wracking sob she fists her hand in his shirt once, twice, then throws her arms around him with the violence of a harsh wave colliding against a pillar of rock.** “ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

“ _ don’t leave, please don’t leave me again” _

_ OR _

_ “You’re only trying to save yourself” _

_ “I  _ **_cannot watch you die_ ** _ ” _

_ “You have before!” _

_ “You are MY  _ **_friend_ ** _ ”  _

_ “No.” _

_ “You said you would forgive me anything” _

_ “And you knew better” _

In this place between love and hate we exist eternal.

Astra inclinant sed non obligant.

EPILOGUE:

Ginevra Molly Weasley and Tom Marvolo Riddle sat together in a world constructed of parchment, leather and ink- tragic things in a terrible world. But they had found one another through the ravage of time and restriction of circumstance and in this they were happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned for this story to be far longer but life has gotten in the way and I won't have time to put to this whilst I am at grad school so instead of leaving you lot without an update for another four months I have decided to end the story with this chapter that generally accomplishes most of the things I set out to when I started writing this. My general goal was to explore Ginny more as a character and how she might be facing the after effects of the events that occurred in her second year and how she might react if Tom were to return. I may write a sequel to this at some point but I have no idea what the time frame for that sort of thing would be, regardless I thank all of you for taking the time to read this and I hope you aren't to disappointed by the ambiguous ending. If you would like to chat about it you are always free to leave a comment and I will endeavor to reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Let me know what you think! I love comments about my fics and just discussing HP in general.


End file.
